


Dog Days

by PunishedPyotr



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Drunkenness, Kink Meme, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Sunglasses, refusing to contribute to the 'Tretij as a given name' cancer, reupload
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 12:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13481805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunishedPyotr/pseuds/PunishedPyotr
Summary: Except Eli didn’t have a semi-automatic rifle right now, or any other kind of weapon unless he was stupid enough to think he could get to the whiskey bottles first, and Big Boss was still bigger and stronger than him. Fight was impossible.So, flight.Eli bolted.





	Dog Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brambora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brambora/gifts).



> (if any of you busybody assholes ignore the warnings and try to start shit in the comments section of this fic again i will personally fin dyour mother's grave and fuck her corpse -pp)
> 
> Prompt: _Big boss misses Kaz and can't help himself but notice how similar his son looks._  
>  _In other words BB fucks Liquid wearing the sun glasses._  
>  I can't actually post this full on the kink meme itself since there's a rule against underage stuff (yawn), but fortunately it just so happened that the person who posted the prompt in the first place is someone in my Discord server.

1984\. Following the collapse of the Kingdom of the Flies, Eli and Mantis made their way to America. They were found in New York City by some lady named Dr. Clark. She was… nice.

1985\. Big Boss returned from somewhere in Africa to re-take up his mantle as the commander of FOXHOUND. He had a guy codenamed Gray Fox in tow, and his little sister. Dr. Clark decided it’d be best if a boy was with his father, and imposed Eli on Big Boss. (Mantis went with him, but Big Boss didn’t know that.) Most of the time they were left alone in Big Boss’ house way out in the countryside while Big Boss himself spent all his time at the FOXHOUND headquarters, never mentioning his son at home.

1988.

Eli was almost sixteen, close to being almost a man.

He hadn’t seen his father in a week, which quite frankly was fine by him, although admittedly it could get a little problematic scrounging for food here - rural America was very different from the Angolan jungle. It did help that Mantis ate very little. (Not that Eli wasn’t of the opinion that he really should eat more… he’d always been this skinny, but at some point Eli didn’t quite remember it had started to _worry_ him.) And for today they were good.

It was a pretty hot day, the sun bearing down and not a cloud in the sky, and since Big Boss’ house had no air conditioning Eli and Mantis had migrated outside to where at least the breeze could cool them off a little. The brightness of the sun didn’t seem to bother Mantis at all (perhaps because the lenses of his gas mask, which he insisted on wearing even though Eli was the only other human being around for miles, were tinted), but Eli had found a pair of sunglasses in Big Boss’ dresser and “borrowed” them a few days ago.

Funnily enough, they looked almost exactly like the kind worn by Miller, back at Mother Base, whatever he was up to nowadays. Eli had no idea what, if any, relation there was between his actual father and Miller, though, so he couldn’t say for sure they actually _were_ his.

 _I could check when your father comes back if you’d like me to_ , Mantis ‘said’.

“Hm.” It didn’t really matter.

_…oh, he’ll be back soon, actually. He just came in range… he’s driving here now… he’ll arrive in less than five minutes._

Eli didn’t pay the news any mind — Big Boss coming back after a week at FOXHOUND headquarters was, if anything, a premature return, but not so early that Eli found any reason to be alarmed or even curious about why he’d be back so soon. He just continued laying in the crook of the tree branch he’d hauled himself up into about an hour ago, arms behind his head, lazily swinging one leg. Conserving energy.

He knew Big Boss was close when he saw, through one slightly cracked eyelid, Mantis disappear. A few moments later, he heard the crunch of tires on the gravel road leading up to the house.

The car pulled up in the driveway and shut off, then the door opened and Big Boss stepped out. Eli only spared him a glance, as pointedly dismissive and uninterested as he could express with just his face. Ordinarily Big Boss would only give him the same look in return, if he looked his way at all.

Today his gaze lingered just long enough that Eli started to feel on-edge and wary, like an animal that knows it must soon choose between fight or flight.

Thankfully Big Boss tore his eye away just before Eli was about to jump out of the tree and ask him what the fuck was he looking at. He stalked inside, slamming the door behind him. After a second of Eli staring curiously at the closed door, Mantis reappeared, perched on the end of the branch Eli was lying on.

 _The sunglasses surprised him_ , Mantis told Eli.

“Did they.”

_Not because you stole them from his dresser, though. You remind him of someone._

“Miller?”

Mantis nodded.

“Huh.”

Eli had no comment other than that. He was wondering if he should really bother trying to pick a fight with Big Boss today, or if he should just avoid him until he left for the FOXHOUND headquarters again — it could go either way, really. Thus far every time he’d challenged Big Boss he’d had his arse royally handed to him, and quite a few times it was only a “lucky” coincidence (courtesy of Mantis) that spared him from being outright killed by his father, or at least _seriously_ injured (aside from the one time he’d gotten a concussion so bad it had only been Mantis psychically forcing his blood to stay where it belonged that had prevented his death).

Mantis, of course, wasn’t allowed to interfere with the whole situation. Eli wanted to kill Big Boss _himself_ \- to take his revenge _personally_ \- and the more he failed at it the more he dug his heels in about doing it with no aid from Mantis at all. Hell, if he had his way Mantis would have stayed his hand even in those situations where Eli would have died without him. Mantis no longer obeyed his will the way he once had. It drove Eli _nuts_.

 _Sorry,_ Mantis thought meekly.

Eli shook his head irritably. He supposed it was unfair to be annoyed with Mantis for saving his life when the rest of the time he was… well, not exactly _content_ to let Eli struggle alone against his father, but he let him do it and always waited, patiently and passively, out of sight and away from the action, for Eli to slink back up to his room and lick his wounds.

He decided to just avoid Big Boss today.

* * *

Night fell and it was just as unbearably hot and humid as it had been in the day. Eli had seen too many cases of malaria and yellow fever to want to stick around when the mosquitos came out, so when the faint buzzing had started up he’d retreated inside — taking the long way in, climbing up the side of the house and through his window, instead of having to walk past the downstairs kitchen where he already knew Big Boss was. Drinking, probably. He tended to drink when he came back from the FOXHOUND headquarters. Said he did it to be able to bear putting up with such an obnoxious brat over the weekend.

Eli carefully replaced the bug-screen and kept the window open, although it didn’t help too much. Tying his hair back had helped him feel a little less sweat-sticky, at least - although he did wonder how the hell Mantis could stand this, this heat and humidity and him in his gas mask…

 _I’m used to it_ , Mantis said simply.

Lying on his back on the threadbare mattress on the floor that passed for a bed around here, one arm behind his head, Eli held the sunglasses up over his face and examined them, tilting them every so often so the overhead light would glint off of them differently. The more he thought about it the more sure he was that these were, in fact, Miller’s sunglasses and not just some look-alikes. Big Boss must have stolen them from Miller before Eli stole them from Big Boss. (And of course they _must_ know each other, Mantis had said Big Boss was thinking about him and Mantis didn’t lie.)

He also couldn’t get Big Boss’ look earlier out of his head. The intense, slightly surprised scrutinizing… Eli couldn’t remember the last time Big Boss had looked at him with something other than contempt. Maybe the first time they’d really met each other, when Big Boss had put on a fake, awkward smile in front of Dr. Clark.

Somewhere deep inside him, Eli felt a pang at that. Maybe he _liked_ the prospect of Big Boss acting like Eli was something _other_ than garbage leftovers someone should have thrown out a long time ago… more than he’d _ever_ admit to, anyway.

Mantis was staring at him in something like sympathy. Eli looked away deliberately, folding the sunglasses in one hand and resettling against the mattress with both arms behind his head now, and closing his eyes and sighing. Living with Big Boss was definitely bad for his mental health. But at this point, where the hell else could they go?

_Your father’s about to call you downstairs._

Eli opened his eyes. “What?”

“Brat! Get down here!!”

He sounded drunk. If Eli didn’t respond, then Big Boss was only going to stomp up the stairs and force his way into his room, and Eli’s only option to continue avoiding him would be to sleep out in the forest tonight, which he wasn’t very keen on. So he shoved the sunglasses back on his face just to annoy his father and stood up.

 _Eli, I think it’d be better to just go hide in the woods_ , Mantis said when Eli had his hand on the doorknob. Eli could feel a bit of vague alarm from him over their psychic link; he was nervous about something, perhaps even a bit of future he’d glimpsed, but couldn’t really articulate what might go wrong if Eli answered Big Boss’ call.

“I’ll be fine. You stay put, I’ll be right back,” Eli said, and headed downstairs without room for argument.

Big Boss was, as expected, at the kitchen table with one half-empty and several empty bottles of whiskey on it. Eli stood stiffly in the doorway to the kitchen, far enough away that if Big Boss decided to throw one of those bottles at him he could easily dodge.

“Come here,” Big Boss said in a low voice.

Eli took one step closer, and no more. Big Boss’ eye trailed disinterestedly down his body - taking in his clothes, Eli assumed. His pants were old and worn, repaired multiple times (Eli was actually quite good at sewing, although he hid the skill out of embarrassment), and his tank top was several sizes too small, clinging tightly to his muscles (which were well-worked and defined, of course, but still with a hint of _underdeveloped_ that gave away his young age) and showing a strip of tanned stomach and hips just over his pants.

Then Big Boss’ eye settled on Eli’s face, or more specifically on the sunglasses, and that weird, uncomfortable, scrutinizing look returned.

“Come _here_ ,” Big Boss said again.

Eli briefly considered his options before taking another few steps forward, standing just outside Big Boss’ arm range assuming he didn’t brandish one of the whiskey bottles. Unfortunately for him Big Boss leaned forward slightly, but determined as always to not show anything even _approaching_ fear, Eli stayed put.

He swore he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rising at the way Big Boss was continuing to examine him. He told himself it was just because his hair was currently in a tight ponytail.

After a tense moment, Big Boss raised his hand - slowly, not telegraphing an incoming blow at all - and reached towards Eli’s face. Eli figured he was just going to grab his sunglasses and he set his jaw, glaring, deciding to continue standing still and to not make a big deal about Big Boss invading his personal space if only because Mantis had been so worried a few minutes ago.

To his surprise, instead of grabbing the sunglasses, Big Boss’ fingers brushed his jaw. To his even greater surprise, his touch was almost- it almost— it was far, _far_ gentler than Big Boss had ever touched him before, _ever_.

And Eli realized what it was that unsettling about the expression on Big Boss’ face. He had _seen_ it before.

It had been a long time ago, really, back in Angola, when he’d had a commander who was rumored to have _other interests_ with the child soldiers besides sending them out to kill. Eli remembered that look from that night when Eli had been grabbed by his commander, and even with as young as he was then he still knew that that was _not_ a way he was _supposed_ to be grabbed, _especially_ with as young as he was — it was the same expression now as when the commander had grabbed him where he didn’t want to be touched, and the same expression as had been frozen on the commander’s face when little Eli had panicked and unloaded half a magazine into the underside of his chin.

Except Eli didn’t have a semi-automatic rifle right now, or any other kind of weapon unless he was stupid enough to think he could get to the whiskey bottles first, and Big Boss was still bigger and stronger than him. Fight was impossible.

So, flight.

Eli bolted.

But anything that runs from a predator, no matter what they are or how interested the predator previously was in them, is automatically regarded as prey when that hunting instinct kicks in.

Big Boss’ hunting instinct kicked in and he sprung across the room after Eli. He normally carried himself with a surprising amount of grace for such a stocky man, but he didn’t have any of that drunk, and he crashed into Eli almost clumsily, pinning him against the floor, one lens of the sunglasses cracking as Eli’s head bounced off the ground.

Eli hissed, and spit, and writhed around under his father’s weight, doing his best to strike at him with elbows and nails and teeth and legs. He was going nowhere fast, though. Eli was almost as tall as Big Boss, but that didn’t count for much on the floor. What counted was weight, and _god_ Big Boss had to have at _least_ a hundred pounds on him. He could barely breathe.

“Kaz,” Big Boss said in a heavy whisper.

“Get off of me! Get the _fuck_ off of me!!”

“You never even talk to me anymore,” Big Boss went on, his whiskey-stinking breath too close to Eli’s face and his words slightly slurred.

“Get off!!”

“You can’t even stand to look me in the face. What’d I do wrong?”

The fact that Big Boss was drunkenly confusing him with Miller finally clicked in Eli’s brain, and his eyes widened. What the _fuck?_ How would he get out of this one? He supposed it couldn’t hurt to try reasoning with him, pointing out the obvious…

“Father, stop it, I’m not Miller, I’m not—“

Big Boss’ hand knocked the underside of Eli’s jaw so hard he tasted blood and he thought he might have chipped a tooth. Alright. Apparently it _did_ hurt to try and reason with him.

“Don’t give me any of that shit, Kaz,” Big Boss growled, pinning Eli’s wrists to the ground with one hand.

“Oh my god,” Eli said, licking his lips nervously. “Oh, my god.”

His legs were pinned as well, and it felt like his bones were creaking with the force they were pressed against the floor with, and the best he could manage in terms of movement by this point was some awkward, fruitless wriggling from side to side, not even enough to slip halfway out from under Big Boss. He tried anyway.

Almost made it, too, or at least that was what he told himself when Big Boss redoubled his clutches, crushing a forearm against Eli’s throat and cutting off his airway completely.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he vaguely heard Big Boss say over the sound of his blood pounding in his ears.

Just when the struggle to stay conscious was really starting to get difficult, Big Boss - unexpectedly - relented. Eli gulped down air, for a moment not caring how pathetic it was, and Big Boss made a low growl… no, maybe a growl wasn’t quite it, maybe it was a little closer to a _purr_. It sounded almost _affectionate._

“Brings back memories, huh?” he said.

“W-What?” Eli said, still trying to catch his breath, which wasn’t easy with a sore throat and Big Boss still compressing his chest.

“Come on, you remember. Costa Rica.”

“What the h-hell? What are you talking about??”

“1975?”

“I was fucking three years old!! In _England!_ ”

Big Boss grabbed his jaw roughly. He didn’t seem to like having his drunken conclusions refuted. At least having Eli shut up abruptly seemed to satisfy him, marginally. He let go of Eli’s jaw again.

Eli didn’t dare speak now.

His skin crawled as his father’s hand started to slowly move down his body, but with that came Big Boss shifting his weight back slightly - more pain for his legs, true, but more mobility for the upper half of his body. He waited until Big Boss’ hand was a decent distance away from his throat (about the middle of his chest), then jerked his torso violently, trying to escape once more.

Big Boss’ fist against his ribs drove the breath out of him again, and this time he thought he might have actually broken something. When Eli scrambled for air, his chest ached powerfully with every movement.

“Stay put,” Big Boss grunted.

“Don’t do this,” Eli gasped as Big Boss grabbed the bottom of his tank top. “Don’t do this, Father, I swear to- _Aaagh!!_ ”

Right. Calling him ‘Father’ meant pain. Fine. Duly noted.

Big Boss pushed his shirt up almost to his neck, exposing his chest, which was rising and falling embarrassingly fast in a mixture of fear and dizziness. And as much as Eli was trying to stay quiet now, to not give his father the satisfaction of him crying out, that was exactly what he did when Big Boss pinched one of his nipples, hard.

He could feel panic rising in the pit of his stomach and he knew it wasn’t how much it hurt that was doing it - he’d been in far, far worse pain before than just rough fingers rubbing and tugging at his nipple — it was just that this was so _wrong_ , so _unwanted_ , and there was some extra sensation accompanying the pain that Eli didn’t quite have a name for. He growled low in his throat, although perhaps it ended up being more like a whine, and renewed his efforts at squirming out from under Big Boss. And they didn’t go any better now than they had a minute ago.

“You like that, Kaz?” Big Boss said, his voice vibrating off of Eli’s shoulder.

“No,” Eli snarled, trying to tug his wrists away from Big Boss’ other hand, “no, I hate this, I hate you, stop it—“

He had to bite back a whimper when Big Boss moved his hand over to the other nipple. This wasn’t good - his nipples were stiff and raw and aching and Eli’s voice shook as he continued protesting loudly.

“Stop, s-stop it—! No!! You _bastard_ , I-I-I swear I’ll-“

Big Boss’ hand suddenly disappeared and Eli had to crane his neck to see where it went. Couldn’t much see past Big Boss’ body. But he found out a moment later, anyway, when a vice-like grip on his balls wrenched a scream and a full-body spasm out of him.

“You always did like it rough,” Big Boss purred.

“God, _don’t_ —-“

“Kaz, stop playing so fucking hard to get.”

“I’m _not_ -“

Big Boss’ hand shifted and Eli suddenly became aware of something hard rubbing clumsily up against his crotch, and he swallowed the rest of his sentence. Oh god. Oh, _god_.

This couldn’t be happening. No fucking way.

“I’m not Miller,” Eli whispered, eyes wide, his whole body trembling.

For a brief second Big Boss reared back and his only contact with Eli’s body was the hand on his wrists, and then he jerked his arm and almost _threw_ Eli - his head collided with the floor again, harder this time, making a sound like a watermelon dropped from fifteen feet, and Eli’s ears rung and his sight went completely black for a moment.

Big Boss flipped him over.

Pinned down again, on his stomach this time, Eli was mostly just confused how he got here — the whole world seemed to be spinning around him, and his vision drifted apart, duplicating and overlapping itself until he could barely tell where he was. His head hurt so bad he almost didn’t notice the sound of a zipper and the way one of his father’s hands was gripping one of his hips so hard his nails were cutting into his skin.

He almost didn’t notice Big Boss didn’t have his arms restrained anymore.

Eli twisted, trying to get away and claw at Big Boss’ face at the same time, but his movements were uncoordinated and too desperate and Big Boss easily batted him off, pressing his face against the warm tile and pushing his heart-wrenchingly obvious erection against Eli’s ass.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay put?”

“L-Let go of me…!!”

At least like this he wouldn’t have to see the _hunger_ in his father’s expression.

He pushed himself up just a little, panting, panicking now, his back pressing against Big Boss’ chest and he could feel him breathing hard. Eli’s heart was beating rabbit-fast and he shook his head, some jumbled thought in his head about knocking those stupid sunglasses that started all this off his face, since they had slid pretty far down with Eli’s sweat both from the weather today and from Big Boss’ assault, but they stayed perched stubbornly on the tip of his nose.

It was so hot in the house that it was more the scrape of fabric than the feel of air that indicated to Eli that Big Boss had pulled down Eli’s pants, or rather, had torn them right off. A very distant part of Eli’s brain tutted about having to repair them again. Another part decided to burn them as soon as this was over, assuming he survived. Maybe splash a bit of accelerant on himself, too.

“No,” he moaned pathetically, feeling Big Boss grab him again, pulling him up and back, “oh god, n- _no_.”

“I missed you, Kaz.”

The head of Big Boss’ cock pressed against Eli’s asshole, and then _into_ it, and Eli couldn’t help himself: he screamed, convulsed, clawed at the floor, tried his damnedest to pull away from his father even though he _couldn’t_ , and his vision blurred as hot tears welled in his eyes and streamed down his cheeks. It burned. It hurt. It _hurt_ , and again it wasn’t just the pain even though now he thought for sure this _was_ the worst pain he’d ever been in — but it was so invading, so violent, so _violating_.

And then Big Boss started _thrusting_ and it was _worse_ and Eli’s throat gave out, his scream breaking into a hoarse, gurgling wheeze. His chest hitched. He didn’t bother holding back the sobs. He didn’t have the pride or dignity left to stop himself from begging.

“Please, p-please, stop, d-don’t do this, please—! S-stop this, I-I’ll do a-anything, anything you w-want, please j-just stop… please, F-Father—-“

“I thought,” Big Boss mumbled, his lips moving against the Eli’s sweat-damp shoulder-blades, “that the term was ‘daddy’…?”

“P-please, I don’t w-want this, Father, you’re h-hurting me, stop… don’t… please, please, Father…! I-I’m sorry!! For e-everything!! Please, I’m s-so sorry, please just stop!!”

“Mmnh… you’re tighter than I remember, Kaz…”

“Oh no, no, n-no, please—-!“

Big Boss wrapped Eli’s ponytail around his hand and yanked his head back, then sunk his teeth into the side of his neck. Eli let out another ragged scream.

Big Boss didn’t let go as he continued fucking him. Eli could feel saliva or maybe blood running down his neck, from where Big Boss’ beard scratched against his skin, and staining his tank top and he could feel something trickling down the backs of his thighs, and it seemed likely that that was blood but then again it could be that clear, slick fluid that came out of the dick and Eli had never looked up the name of.

He tried to focus on the tile beneath his hands instead. Tried to focus on the pain of his nails splintering against it. To shut everything else out.

It didn’t work.

And things got worse.

Eli wasn’t an expert on anatomy; he mostly knew where and how to wound when he wanted someone to hurt but to stay alive, and where and how to wound when he wanted someone dead. And of course he’d seen the inside of the human body before, plenty of times, more times than any fifteen-year-old ever should. But that didn’t help answer the question of what _was_ that _certain spot_ that Big Boss’ cock had started hitting when he grunted ferally and changed angle slightly, reaffirming his too-tight grip on Eli— there was some _certain spot_ that, when hit, sent jolts of intense feeling through Eli’s body, and somewhere mixed in all the pain there was something that ignited a spark of Eli’s own teenage hunger.

His body didn’t give a shit about how he was getting it, it just wanted, demanded, _needed_ this feeling, this… this _pleasure_ , and despite Eli’s horror at the way things were spiralling out of what little control he had left, his traitorous dick twitched a few times and started to stiffen and rise.

“Oh, no, oh, d-don’t,” Eli wheezed, mostly talking to himself now. “Don’t, please, n-not now… no…”

For some reason all he could think about was the phenomenon of one in three men getting erections at the moment of death when they were hung or shot in the head. He remembered making fun of them as a kid. Maybe this was kind of like that.

Except he wasn’t dead, not yet.

Not yet.

He gathered his remaining strength, and, in one adrenaline-and-panic-fueled last ditch effort, he twisted his body as sharply as he could, gritting his teeth as his knee popped - dislocated, rendered useless - but he managed to roll out from under Big Boss and scramble away. He had a vague awareness of his flesh tearing as he yanked his neck his away his father’s teeth, but he didn’t feel too much blood so it must be fine, and pulling his ass off of Big Boss’ dick so suddenly and roughly hurt almost more than the initial penetration. Bled more, too. But he got away.

 _Almost_.

Maybe he would have been able to flee the room (or the house entirely) if he were capable of moving his leg, but he wasn’t, and Big Boss was on him again in a flash, crushing Eli’s back against the kitchen floor with a drunken animal strength, growling in his face.

“You’re going to have to try harder than that to convince me you don’t like this, Kaz,” Big Boss said, one hand squeezing Eli’s neck and the other clawing his lower back, pressing Eli’s groin - his boner - up against his stomach.

Eli would have, _should_ have tried to scratch out Big Boss’ remaining eye again, since his hands were technically free, but he was too busy trying to pry back his airway, and even then his movements were weak and… defeated. There really was no way out of this, was there? Hell, it had already been too late when Big Boss had gotten him to the floor. Or maybe when Big Boss had started drinking. Or when he came home and saw Eli sitting there in those goddamned sunglasses and evidently thought _It’s amazing how much that brat looks like Miller_.

Eli was half-unconscious when Big Boss penetrated again, but the pain cut through the haze of asphyxiation anyway, and he whimpered breathlessly. Maybe Big Boss liked that, because he eased up a little — then mouthed the red marks where his fingers had just been, licked the still-bleeding bite wound from moments ago, and bit down again, just offset from the previous wound. Again he fucked Eli, too hard, too fast, skin chafing until Eli felt like his insides were being shredded, teeth clamped down on his throat.

It was simply too much for Eli to take.

He couldn’t exactly will himself into fainting, but he stopped fighting entirely, tilting his head to stare at the wall, eyes unfocused, and he went completely limp, yielding to his father wholly. It actually hurt less like this, amazingly. And maybe if Big Boss liked the little plaintive moans spilling from Eli’s mouth now that he wasn’t holding them back anymore, he would get off faster and be done with this faster and let Eli go faster. Right?

Eli didn’t even resist the unconscious movement of his hips, bucking up shakily into his father’s thrusts, chasing the overwhelming, addictive feeling of that _certain spot_ being pounded with something hard, hot, and throbbing.

He finished before Big Boss did, crying out “Father!” in a piteous, broken voice.

Whether Big Boss ejaculated seconds or hours after that, Eli couldn’t tell. He _did_ know when it happened, though - felt it in excruciating detail - and immediately afterwards Big Boss passed out right on top of him. His instinctual struggle for breath managed to bring Eli back to enough of his senses to realize that Big Boss was, in fact, passed out now, and after some agonized squirming he managed to detach himself from his father and wriggle his way out from under him.

He felt disoriented, mostly. And in a lot of pain.

For a second he didn’t do anything, then he sat up, wincing - it hurt - and with badly shaking hands he took off the sunglasses and stared at them for a long time. Gold mirror aviators, just like Eli remembered from Mother Base, with a thin crack running down the left lens. Very distantly he recalled hearing a rumor that went around among the Diamond Dogs personnel that Eli was actually Miller’s son, since the resemblance between the two was uncanny: the pretty blond hair, the full lips, the high cheekbones, the vaguely dark complexion, the slight Japanese cast to their eyes.

Eli looked down at himself. He was bruised and bleeding, his shirt still pushed up to his shoulders and his ripped pants still pooled around his thighs. There was semen on his stomach. His _own_ semen.

Emotion returned to him in a nauseous jolt, and without thinking he threw the sunglasses against the wall, where they shattered into tiny amber-colored pieces. He tried to jump to his feet, but just fell forward, smacking against the floor once again, and this time he pushed himself up and dry-heaved violently. Oh god. What had just _happened_ to him? What had he just _allowed_ to happen?

Why the hell did he _get off_ on it??

Again he tried to get up, then finally remembered that his knee was dislocated. He bit the inside of his cheek and it took him two tries to relocate it (god, he hoped there wasn’t any permanent damage, that was the last thing he needed - he had to remember to splint it and keep as much weight off it as he could for the next few days), but after that it started to hurt less, which felt like a disproportionate relief. The slow ebb of at least some of his pain helped to ground him a little.

It was over. He wasn’t dead — his father hadn’t killed him. His father was unconscious, he wouldn’t do it again. He’d never do it again.

…wouldn’t he?

Eli pushed the thought out of his head. This had only happened because Big Boss was drunk and mistook him for someone he apparently used to be fuckbuddies with or something. There wasn’t going to be a repeat performance. No way.

He ran his hand back through his hair, and he’d almost forgotten he’d tied to back earlier. He remembered Big Boss pulling on his ponytail, and felt very sick again. He did throw up this time, right on the floor next to Big Boss, and as he was exhaustedly wiping the vomit off his face he also remembered that he had cried, fucking _cried_ , sobbed openly under his father and even now he was sure his face was still humiliatingly red.

Pulling himself to his feet, gripping the waist of his pants back up to his hips, and groaning involuntarily, he limped over to the counter and yanked out a drawer packed with random objects, his hands still trembling. He found a pair of hatefully dull scissors and it wasn’t until his fourth try that he was able to get enough purchase on his hair to cut his ponytail off entirely and leave it in chunks on the kitchen floor. His now dramatically short hair curled against the sides of his face, stiff and clumped with drying sweat. Good. One more thing that would _remind_ him of what had just transpired, gone.

He wished he could cut off every other reminder, too. But the scissors weren’t sharp enough to cut flesh. (That was the only reason why hadn’t already used them to kill Big Boss.)

Eli hobbled back to his bedroom and, despite his injuries and the fact he really should be taking it easy on his knee and that Big Boss was completely unconscious, he shoved his mattress up against his door, barricading himself in. He could feel Mantis’ eyes on the back of his neck. On the still-fresh bite marks from his father, probably. He was marginally grateful, though, that Mantis let him move the mattress by himself, as much as it hurt for him to do so.

Without looking at him, and without trying to look at himself, he staggered unevenly over towards the bathroom, supporting himself on the wall as he went even though it was more of a pain issue than a balance one. And once again, Mantis’ voice in his head stopped him as he put his hand on a doorknob.

 _I’m sorry_.

He chanced a glance at him. Mantis was scrunched up in the corner as small as possible, although he had no trouble meeting Eli’s eyes. Panic settled in Eli’s chest again. Mantis had seen everything through Eli’s eyes, hadn’t he? Hell, he’d probably felt some of it, too. Probably still feeling it.

 _I could have- I should have done something_ , Mantis said, _I just didn’t know what to do._

Eli let out a humorless and extremely hollow laugh. “Neither did I,” he said hoarsely.

And then he locked himself in the bathroom, turned the shower on as hot as it could go and sat in there until it ran cold. His skin was raw and red from scrubbing it, and his wounds were still bleeding, and he didn’t feel clean. But at least he could tell himself that the water streaming down his cheeks again was only from the showerhead.

* * *

2005\. Liquid put on a tank top, tied his hair back, shoved those sunglasses onto his face and looked in a small mirror lying on his desk. Then he felt Mantis’ hand on his shoulder.

His touch was gentle. He only ever did that when he was worried about him.

 _You do not have to do it like this_ , he said directly into Liquid’s mind, giving him a significant look. _It’s not too late to find another way._

Liquid shook his head, and although the movement was intended to be almost imperceptible he still saw Ocelot raise an eyebrow. Really, though, even though what had happened with his father had been the first time things had gone that far, it hadn’t been the last time something like that had happened to him. Far from it. Nearly four years a POW in Iraq had ensured that.

After all this time, and with so many blurry layers of similar experiences separating him from that isolated incident on a hot, humid summer day seventeen years ago, the only thing he felt when he saw himself dressed up as Miller once again was just a cold little prickle at his spine. The memories conjured by the disguise were jumbled and more annoying than anything else. All they did was harden his resolve to get revenge on his brother for taking away his _right_ to take revenge on Big Boss, after what he did to him.

“If you are sure,” Mantis said out loud, letting go of his shoulder.

“Of course I’m sure. We don’t have time for uncertainty.”

So soon Liquid was left alone in the control room, cycling through Codec frequencies as patiently as he could, knowing he would eventually hit upon his brother’s channel. Things had a tendency of not going according to plan for Liquid, but just this once - perhaps because it was so suicidally over-the-top - he felt pretty confident and determined. Optimistic, even.

He’d be fine.

**Author's Note:**

> (any and all comments will be forewarded to aireyv! i will either copy/paste their reply to me or they will reply on their own account! have a nice day!!! if you have any questions, just ask!!!!)


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